


Graceless Heart

by 3littleowls



Series: Three/Trì/Tribhyah [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q00 - Freeform, Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Established Relationship, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Songfic, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3littleowls/pseuds/3littleowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is afraid mistakes in the past may ruin his future with his two lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 00Q00 Roleplay series with Demonicsymphony. For more, see: http://demonicsymphony.tumblr.com/roleplay
> 
> Roleplay Timeline: This occurs before Bond and Skanda discover they accidentally got married.

James jabbed his phone and listened to it ring. He tried not to pace as the signal took its time reaching its destination, traveling through the secure communications exchange at the Office before connecting with the mobile on the other side.

“Hello?” A rich voice answered. It was Skanda, agent double-oh three.

“Skanda, where the hell is Q?” Bond bit out.

There was static on the line that told him the call hadn’t dropped, but that the man on the other end had gone quiet. “He’s not with me getting ready to leave an airbase in a helicopter, if that’s what you're asking,” Skanda finally replied.

“He’s gone- looks like he packed a bag and left. His mobile is off- it goes right to voicemail. I was hoping he went after you.”

“I can’t see why he would- my job was cut and dry. Q wasn’t even involved. Did you two have an argument? If you did, I’m sure it will…”

“No!” Bond snapped impatiently. “It’s nothing like that.” Skanda was their other lover and frequently the voice of reason in their triad.

“You think Q has gone to ground for some reason and no one knows why. Is that what you're saying to me, James?” Skanda’s voice was calm, measured.

Bond looked around the living room. Unopened mail sat on the coffee table. A poetry review magazine and an issue of _Wired_ were peeking out from under a chair Skanda usually sat in. A pair of rolled up socks lay on the floor next to the sofa: the flotsam of domestic life.

“That’s what I’m saying,” Bond replied.

::

“Don’t grind through your molars, Bond.”

Bond turned to see Skanda, obviously right off the helicopter. He was dressed in a polo shirt and a creased pair of tan trousers, and his typically neat, inky curls were still tousled. He held out empty hands in supplication, his smile was false, too bright, his show of vulnerability a lie, but Skanda knew Bond could read every twitch of his eye, every honest shift of his body. _Don’t. Don’t burn the world down. Not yet._

Bond relaxed his jaw and Skanda dropped his hands to his side. Message received. 

Q often complained that they must share some talent for extra-sensory perception, but there wasn’t a supernatural explanation- they simply knew each other’s tells. They both excelled at reading body language and had, over time, learned how to communicate quickly and silently with each other. It had saved thier arses a few times and landed them in each other’s beds a few more, when the sheer elegance of physical truthfulness exposed their need. 

“What do we know?” Skanda asked.

Dimms glanced cautiously at Bond before handing Skanda a sheet of paper next to his keyboard. “We don’t suspect foul play.”

“Something isn’t right. Something doesn’t add up,” Bond protested as Skanda looked over the ‘Request For Leave’ form. Q had asked for a long weekend off at the last minute and it had been approved- Dimms had been assigned to supervise the branch for the duration. 

“Are you sure you didn’t just forget…,” Skanda tried to reason. Then he shook his head. “No. It doesn’t explain why his phone is off.”

“It is possible he wanted some peace and quiet?” Dimms asked. “You lot have inspired more than one weekend bender. Before you ask me all the same questions Bond did: Q didn’t tell us anything. We only got an email that he was taking personal time this morning.”

“Just this morning? His office, Dimms. Has anyone looked in his office?” Bond asked pointedly.

Dimms shook his head. “No, but the security logs say no one has activated the locks and there is nothing to indicate otherwise from the motion or bio-signal sensors.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “So no one actually searched it.”

“His security system is…” Dimms went silent as Bond scowled and walked out.

“Bloody boffins and their over reliance on toys,” Bond murmured as Skanda caught up to him. Bond pressed his palm next to the door and the biometric reader lit up. “I assumed someone had bothered to look around.”

Skanda shot Bond a sympathetic look. His brows were knotted, but he was keeping closer than strictly necessary, trying to keep Bond calm.

The lights to Q’s office flashed on through the glass walls, and the door’s lock clicked. Bond pulled it open and Skanda automatically went to the left of the room while Bond went to the right. They trusted the systems enough to not to expect to find anyone in there, but Bond was looking for any clues Q might have left behind. He went for Q’s standing desk.

“Well, this is rather straightforward,” Skanda said, standing at Q’s workbench at the side of the room. He held up a CD case and wiggled it. There was a yellow sticky note on the front:  
 _I need a weekend to myself- I’ll explain later. I left this in a secure location so you know it’s me and I’m safe. Don’t follow, please. -Q_

Skanda pursed his lips in thought and Bond just growled. “What the hell.”

Skanda looked at the custom printed song list on the back of the case:

_My Favorite Mistake- Sheryl Crow_  
Die Young, Stay Pretty- Blondie  
Papa Don’t Preach- Madonna  
Ne me quitte pas- Regina Spektor   
Miranda- Fleetwood Mac 

“Q’s girl band list?”

Bond shook his head. “What’s inside?”

The CD was titled with a felt-tipped pen: _music for men who utilize outdated technology._

Skanda handed Bond the CD with a grin. “I think it’s for you.”

“My CDs still work,” Bond grumbled. Inside the case were a few lines of song lyrics:

_And I am done with my graceless heart_  
So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart  
Cause I like to keep my issues drawn  
It's always darkest before the dawn  
-Florence and the Machine

“That’s all. Does it mean anything to you?” Bond read the lyrics over several times. Something twisted in his gut. 

Skanda squinted at it. “Hidden program, maybe? We can play the CD in a computer, see what happens. Run an analysis on it?”

The door opened again and made the men turn their heads. Moneypenny smiled at Bond. “Any luck?” Bond’s lips thinned in a grimace.

“Look, M wants to tell you Q can’t be considered missing until he fails to report back from leave. In the meantime, he doesn’t want…. Did you find something?”

“Q left us a CD and some lyrics,” Skanda told her. “I was going to see if Dimms would run….”

“Wait.” Moneypenny held up a hand and took the case. “Isn’t Miranda the name of Q’s ex girlfriend?”

“What?” Skanda said and looked at Bond, the silent question repeating.

“Yes- there was a girl, once.” Bond said. 

Moneypenny shook her head. “We dish sometimes, at lunch. I don’t know more about her, just that the last woman he dated was back in uni. I’m sure her name was Miranda.” 

“Surname?” Bond asked, hopefully.

“No, never mentioned it. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m trying to tell you M doesn’t want more time spent on trying to find a man that went off for the weekend. We need to let the branch get back to work.”

Instead of arguing, Bond ground his teeth together and walked out of the office. What the hell? Why would Q just take off and not say anything to him?

Skanda followed and waited until they were out of Q-Branch earshot before saying, “Do you think he wanted to visit his ex girlfriend over the weekend?” He waved a hand vaguely. “Privately?”

“To have a weekend fling for old time's’ sake?” Bond frowned. “No. He wouldn’t have to hide that from us if he wanted to.” 

Skanda’s expression was unsure and Bond understood. Q could be reticent at times. 

“I still think something’s wrong,” Bond said. He stopped and wiped his hand over his face. “But I think Moneypenny is right: I don’t think he’s in any danger. He’s just fucked off without telling us.”


	2. Chapter 2

Q watched lights occasionally go by in the darkness of the Chunnel until he numbly disembarked in Paris and changed trains. He stared at nothing in particular, replying absently in French when he was prompted. An American tourist asked him for directions, and Q replied dully in French, as if he had never spoken English at all. The next train took him through the lush countryside, its beauty lost to him, blurred colours through reinforced safety glass.

He had almost decided to cancel the trip when he was on the Tube, almost turned back when his insides turned on him and he thought he might lose his breakfast. When cold sweat prickled through his vest and button-down and everything in his body was telling him to run. He pushed through it, fought the panic, but his reward was hours of dissociation. In some ways, being unable to focus on the task at hand was making this trip easier.

A bubble of nerves reminded him when his stop was next on the line. He went into the toilet, washed his face in the little sink. He looked at himself in the mirror and wondered what Miranda would think when she saw him again. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. Straightened the vintage skinny tie that had been a gift from Moneypenny.

It made him smile, a little, the reminder that he had people waiting for him when he got home. She had given it to him during one of their lunches shortly after the gossip had inevitably circulated that the Quartermaster was shagging not just one, but two of the double-ohs. He knew she’d want to dish, and it was fun to brag a bit.

“So how does it work?” she had asked, leaning over her plate of chicken and rice.

Q had shrugged and sipped his water. “Well, they aren’t usually in London at the same time, so it’s more normal than you’d think.”

“You have alternating boyfriends,” Moneypenny had grinned. “Like a timeshare.”

Q had snickered and rolled his eyes. “Kind of. They’re out enough that I get time to myself, too. It just manages itself, really.”

“No jealousy? I didn’t think Bond would be the type to share very nicely with others.”

Q had thought about how he had wanted to answer that. He’d jabbed at his salad. “No- we’re not jealous with each other. It’s hard to put into words, but I like knowing they’re together. I think they both feel the same way.” Q had known he was simplifying- it made him happy that Skanda and Bond were seeing each other. They fit- they should have been a thing long before Q and Bond.

“Skanda sees other people still, and he’s our friend-“

Moneypenny had given him an incredulous look at ‘friend’ and Q had ignored it.

“I want him to enjoy himself, so. It’s okay. I just try not to dwell on what happens during missions. I mean I get it…” Q had pushed his lettuce around, examined a prawn. He didn’t like it when they had to fuck for work. It didn’t help knowing that Bond didn’t always hate it- the thrill of charming a pretty, dangerous woman. It still felt creepy, like prostitution. 

Moneypenny had known Q well enough to change tactics. “So the secretary pool has been mooning over Skanda forever. He’s a charmer.”

“He is. Neither Bond nor I are good at the small things,” Q had admitted. “Skanda knows things that we like and remembers- he brings us presents. Like a lemongrass scented soap I favor or Bond's _Hitchhikers’ Guide_ collection. He sends me dumb memes, tech articles he finds, little poems that catch his fancy. We always know he's thinking about us."

"And the sex?" She had whispered with a grin.

Q had smirked and shaken his head. "Not telling."

Moneypenny had made a face. "Spoiled brat."

"True. But I deserve it!” Q had winked. “Thanks again for the tie, by the way.”

Moneypenny had thrown her serviette at him.

But now, he ran his fingers over the geometric patterns in the silk. Whatever was to come, it would be okay, he reassured himself. He had his friends, and two lovers, and while things might change, surely they wouldn’t….

The conductor called the next station, and Q took a final deep breath and walked out of the loo. He could keep riding until they kicked him off the train- could always just turn around and go back home. But no, he knew that he wouldn’t relax until he got an answer. He’d been obsessing about this for weeks, and he had to know. He had to deal with the consequences.

The train slowed and Q retrieved his case. When it stopped, he stepped into the clean countryside air.


	3. Chapter 3

_She’s changed her hair_ was Q’s first thought as he saw Miranda in the little corner cafe. It just touched her shoulders, dark brown and straight. She wore a bright pink scarf to ward off the chill, but it seemed that the French always wore a scarf of some kind, no matter the weather.

She saw him and and smiled, and his heart flopped in his chest. “Mark.” She stood, holding her arms out to him. Q stepped forward and embraced her gently, kissed her cheeks. “You look amazing!”

Q could only shrug noncommittally. In truth, he felt like shit and he wasn’t not sure he wouldn’t sick up. “You, too, Miranda. You’ve cut your hair.”

She laughed. “Several times, over the last eight years.”

Q bit his lip. “I’m bad at keeping in touch- sorry.”

She sat back down, offering him the seat opposite. She glanced over her shoulder until a waiter came by and she ordered coffee for both of them.

Q had read up on her when he had rediscovered her on Facebook. He had some intel on her life, something to start the conversation as a warm up. “How is everything? The writing?”

She stirred her coffee. “Oh, sometimes it’s good. I sold a story the other day. At times it’s slow. Averill is a teacher and has the steady income, thank goodness! He’s the adult of the household.” She smiled at her own joke. “You must be a success- you were brilliant in school.”

“I’m the chief information officer for an export-import company. It pays the bills,” he lied easily. He’d said it so long now, it didn’t even feel like a cover anymore.

“A wife?” She asked, eyebrow arching at the same time she lifted her coffee. 

“He’d be grumpy if I called him that. I have a partner, James. He works at the same company I do.” Q tasted his own coffee and watched Miranda’s reaction. She didn’t seem surprised. Q hadn’t exactly been in the closet, but he hadn’t advertised his preferences, either. 

“Oh, there is the sharp little tongue I remember!” She chuckled.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

“Yes, you missed the wedding; I’ll never forgive you.” She winked. “I met Averill as I was finishing my doctorate, almost a year after you graduated.”

“You transferred, I heard.” Q had known this; friends had told him Miranda had left England and had gone back to France. He hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, deep in agent training with Six.

“Yes, with the baby coming, it was easier to be closer to my family so I could finish my dissertation.”

Q coughed on his coffee, the hot drink burning his mouth. “I...didn’t….”

She reached over patted his arm. “Mark….”

He pulled his serviette off the table and covered his mouth as he coughed. His stomach lurched as he waited for her to continue.

A girl in a navy frock wound her way through the tables towards them. She had soft, dark curls and skipped a little as she picked a roundabout path. Q knew she was eight years, four months old. He had performed the math many times over the last few weeks.

“Maman?” She asked, tugging Miranda’s sleeve. “They are out of mussels. The shopkeeper tried to sell me fish, but you said mussels so I didn’t get one.” She held out an empty mesh shopping bag as evidence.

“That’s fine, dear. Don’t be rude; say hello to my friend. This is Mark, and this is Julia.”

Q was feeling lightheaded and he clutched the serviette in his hand. Christ. Rob- his friend from uni had been right. The girl looked just like him.

“Mark,” Miranda said, concern in her voice. “Mark, breathe for us, please. You’re turning white.”

He heaved in a shaking breath. “Sorry.” He exhaled, inhaled again. “I took too big a sip of my coffee. It’s-It’s nice to meet you, Julia.”

The little girl gave Q a dubious stare. 

“Here, why don’t you go to the fabric shop on the corner? See if they have remnants we can use for doll’s clothes,” Miranda told her, gently shooing her daughter away. The little girl slowly left them, giving Q a suspicious look, probably wondering who the oddly behaving adult was. 

“Mark?” Miranda reached out to him and took his hand. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Q shook his head, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His head was swimming, the coffee still burning at the back of his throat. He was having a panic attack, and he hoped he wasn’t going to faint sitting here at the table.

“Is it true? Is she mine?” Q pushed out. He needed to know. He couldn’t...not anymore.

Miranda squeezed his fingers. “She’s mine, and she knows Averill as her father. As for who got me pregnant, I’m not sure. It could have been you.”

“I have to know,” Q said. He wiped the cold sweat off his face. “I don’t...I mean...god. Why didn’t you tell me years ago?”

“You had a career you were excited about. I wanted to keep the baby. Telling you, spoiling your plans and future didn’t seem like the right thing to do.”

The waiter came by with a glass of water. “Sir, are you alright?”

Q blinked at him dumbly until Miranda broke in. “He just choked a bit on the hot coffee. He’s fine.” 

Q wasn’t fine. Wasn’t at all, but there was nothing the good intentions of the waiter could do about that. Q sipped the water and the concerned waiter left, satisfied.

“It wasn’t the right thing to do,” Q said quietly.

“Then what? Would you have married me? We were friends Mark, but we were never really lovers. What a disaster that would have been.” 

“Who are the other-others? You said you weren't sure…”

Miranda shook her head. “It doesn’t matter…”

“I need to know!” Q snapped. She winced at his outburst, but he pressed on. “Please…”

“Alright. Alright,” she patted his hand again.


	4. Chapter 4

Miranda stood with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the device Q held in his hand. It looked like a large gaming controller with an added probe sticking out of the side. Q sat at the small desk in his hotel room, setting up the machine.

“It’s painless, I promise. It uses just a cheek swab….”

Miranda squinted at it. “Where did you get it?”

Q blinked at her. Shit. This why he wasn’t an actual field agent. The little details tended to slip by him. “Oh, um. It’s something one of our affiliates makes at work, I’m borrowing it.”

She smiled, warmly. “There’s the Mark I remember. I bet you asked for permission before you nicked it, right?”

“I’ll return it!” Q promised, a small smile twitching at the corner of his lip.

“Is it intended for law enforcement or remote hospitals?” She asked, watching Q fiddle. 

“Either, I think?” Q answered vaguely and tapped the last button. “It’s ready. Do you want to go first, or-?”

Miranda’s smile faded. “Before we do this, what are your intentions? If you’re her biological father, what then?”

Q swallowed and set the machine down carefully. “I’m not really sure. Help, money if you need it, of course.” Q searched Miranda’s face. “Oh. No. I’d never try to _take her_. I’d hoped you knew me well enough to realize that.” The idea of stealing a child away from a loving family, something Q had never had, was repugnant. 

Miranda frowned at him. “I also thought after he graduated, my friend might try to contact me. Say hello.” There was old pain in her voice that had mellowed over the years to disappointment. “Instead of just getting absorbed in his own life and leaving everyone he knew behind.”

Q looked away. “I was shit with people back then. I’ve always been better with machines.”

“Now you think you can take care of a little girl? Think hard about what you’re doing with your gadget.” Miranda gentled her voice. “If you get back on the train and go home, no one will hold it against you. She has a good life,” Miranda said, almost pleading.

Q closed his eyes and breathed. Tried to calm and settle his thoughts so he could explain. “I hardly remember my parents- they died when I was so young. I didn’t have a large family, I guess, or no one that was willing to take a two-year old in. I bounced from foster family to foster family until I went to prep school….” Q inhaled again, swallowed down old loneliness and a soul-deep need to be wanted by _someone_. “I would have given anything to know my family, even if it was just an odd little man in London that visited me sometimes and sent me gifts on the holidays. When you ask me- _that’s_ what I’m thinking hard about.” Q had to keep his eyes cast down on the desk while Miranda decided what to do. It was too close to home, too many things he normally kept hidden away under layers of sarcasm and perfectionism.

He felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. When he looked up, Miranda had her hand held out. “Show me how to use it first. I’ll take it home tonight and get her sample,” she said.

Q pulled off his glasses and wiped at his eyes, shocked to find them damp. “Thank you. Processing will take a few hours. If you get her reading tonight, we’ll know at lunchtime tomorrow.”

Miranda ran her hand through his hair. “I’m sorry if I’m harsh on you. She’s my daughter, and Averill and I are trying to give her a sibling…. Well. I need to protect my family.”

Q smiled up at her. “Yes, I understand now. I have one of my own, of a sort.”

::

Miranda handed the DNA scanner to Q in the morning after dropping Julia off at school. He checked to make sure the analysis was running and tucked it into his satchel. Then they ignored the device- like a time bomb weighing down his bag- and breakfasted as old friends. They talked about people they went to school with, shared little details about what they had been doing over the last eight years. Miranda gave him a copy of her newest novel. Q told her about James and hinted at Skanda- as much as he could disclose about them, anyway. 

She eventually needed to leave to take a call for work. It reminded Q that his personal mobile was off and tucked away in his room while he was using a burner for the weekend. Bond would be annoyed with him for being out of contact for a couple days, but Q didn’t know how to broach this, didn’t know where to even start. Maybe when the DNA scanner was done counting down he’d figure out what he had to say. Until then, he wasn’t even sure what to think, himself.

Thinking of Bond lead Q to take a page from Bond’s ill-advised Guidebook of Coping with Life’s Bullshit- he bought a bottle of wine and went back to his hotel room. He had about four hours to kill before he would know how much his life was going to change. He remembered that his agents always said that waiting for something to happen was worse than actually dealing with a situation. In this case, he didn’t have to do this sober. He toed off his shoes, took his bottle out on the tiny veranda, and watched the world go by.

::

A soft buzzing woke Q, and he blearily pulled himself upright from his chair. He groaned, head foggy from sleep and the bottle he had finished. Of all the times to nap...but he supposed it was the tranquilizing effects of alcohol combined with his body deciding it was the best to shut down to preserve his sanity. He turned off the alarm on his watch and noted that he had a mild sunburn.

The alarm told him the results should be ready.

Q sat and poked the bottle with his toes a few times, setting it spinning. He should have been looking at the readout, getting his answer, but he delayed, telling himself he needed a few minutes to wake up before he faced it. It wasn’t from the knot of fear in his belly.

He let ten minutes pass before he forced himself to go inside. Even if processing had slowed for some reason, it certainly should be completed by now, and he only wanted to have to go through this once. He went to his bag, took out the DNA reader and held it up. The screen told him it had completed successfully, and he could tap the continue to see the initial results. Q’s finger hovered over the button, his hand shaking. 

“Fuck this,” he muttered, and mashed the button.

He read the screen. He read it twice. He scrolled through the longer summary of results before he tucked it back into his bag and picked up his mobile.

He rang Miranda.

“Hello?”

“It’s Mark,” Q said, his own name sounding more foreign on his tongue then the French. “The test is complete. Um. It’s not me- Julia’s not mine. I’m sorry to bother you with all of this.”

A wave of relief swept over him to finally say it. It was over. His life could go back to normal.

“I see,” Miranda replied carefully.

“I guess by process of elimination you know who the father is, then,” Q asked. “What are you going to do?”

Miranda let the line go silent. “Whatever is best for Julia. Are you catching the train back to London tonight? If not, you’re welcome to come to dinner. Mark, I….” She paused. “I’ve missed you.”

The first train Q could take was in the morning, but he couldn’t handle sitting down with Miranda and having supper with her husband and little girl tonight. Thier child, not his. For just a moment, his news seemed bittersweet. He was back to having no blood relations- the only Quinlan he was sure he was related to after all his digging was himself. 

He still didn’t want to be a father. But he felt really damn lonely.

“Yes, I’m leaving tonight,” he lied. 

“Next time, then. I hope you don’t wait another eight years to say hello,” she said.

“Next time,” Q said, and ended the call. 

Q set the burner phone on the table and pulled out his personal phone. He powered it on. A slew of unread messages and texts lit up the display.

He frowned at the texts from Bond and Skanda, each one more pleading than the last, imploring him to contact them right away. It was clear that they wouldn’t be happy when he got home, and he wasn’t really in the mood to handle relationship drama, so he simply group messaged them: _Relax- I’m perfectly safe. I had some business to attend to. I’ll be at St. Pancras at 13:03._

He tossed the phone on the table. The rest of the night called for takeaway, a bath and another bottle of wine. He had things to think about.


	5. Chapter 5

It was Skanda who met him on the platform, at ease leaning against the station wall, watching Q through his sunglasses as he disembarked.

Q was tense, prepared, but the expected scolding didn’t come. Instead, Skanda reached to take Q’s case and smiled. “Bond was sent out hours ago- some quick business in the Bahamas. He wasn’t very happy about it, but he’s the one with the contacts there.”

Q nodded. In his absence, Dimms or Liang would be Bond’s handler, if he needed one.

They walked to Skanda’s Jaguar in silence, Skanda relaxed and Q’s shoulders aching with strain. He knew without looking that Skanda was searching him, making determinations about his body language. They couldn’t communicate with each other silently like Skanda could with Bond, but Q had no illusions that his state of mind wasn’t being broadcast loud and clear to his perceptive friend.

“I need to stop by my flat; I’ve been at yours the last couple days and I’m out of clothes. Okay?” Skanda asked, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Bosco is fine for now; I took him for a walk. After, we can get lunch at that cafe in the park you like.”

“The Honest Sausage?” Q snickered, as he always did. “Okay.” The idea cheered him-they had taken quite a few long walks around London getting to know each other, and the childish jokes about the restaurant in Regent’s Park were a fond memory and would be a pleasant diversion. Skanda grinned. He started the car and pulled out into the street.

Q leaned his head against the passenger window to watch London go by. He knew if Bond had met him, this would have been a different reunion. Bond would have been angry. He would have made insistent demands. Skanda was a more subtle instrument. Q was well aware Skanda was working on him, trying to put him at ease and nudge his defenses down. Even knowing so, Skanda’s charm was working anyway.

The car came to an abrupt stop and Q’s head clunked lightly on the window.

“I think we should run the braking calculations again.” Skanda frowned. “She’s a bit touchy since we worked on her.”

Q’s brain jumped, took the bait and set to work on the problem. “Hmm.” Q leaned forward and looked at the odometer. “I bet the new pads just need a few more miles on them. If you’re not in a hurry, we can drive around a little and see if we notice any difference.”

Skanda asked a follow up question, and another, and Q let himself be eased into the distraction. The ache in his shoulders receded as he relaxed into the leather and they spoke about nothing of import- high performance rotors and whether they should risk stopping at HQ where Q had his torque limiter. When Skanda finally broached the subject, Q was so preoccupied that he was surprised by the question. “I know you don’t want to talk about what you were up to this weekend, Q. I’m sure you will, in your own time, but I’d like to ask you why. Why did you just leave like that? You scared James half to death.”

“You must have found the CD,” Q protested. “M knew I had put in for leave. Why would you be worried?”

Skanda sighed. “We’re not as quick as you, Q. It took us a little time to figure it out. Also, the lyrics you picked were a little grim, don’t you think? Cutting out your heart?”

“If I had said, ‘gents, I’m going to fuck off for a weekend and take care of some personal business,’ you wouldn’t have badgered me about it?” Q curled into the seat defensively.

Skanda took a deep breath. “You can tell us anything- whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. I hope by now you’d know that. You don’t have to keep things to yourself anymore.”

“Like you don’t!” Q snapped, glaring at Skanda. “You’re going to sit there and judge me, when I know damn well you don’t tell us everything!”

Skanda raised both eyebrows in surprise. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve been in love with me for what, months? You’ve been acting like everything is breezy and casual, but I know it’s not. Not for you. Does Bond even know?” He regretted the words as soon as he had bitten them out, shards thrown in defense without thinking about the damage they would rend. Skanda tightened his lips and pulled the car off the street as soon as he was able.

“Shit,” Q said. “I’m sorry. That was…”

“A fucking dick move. Jesus, Q.” Skanda slammed the shifter in park and pulled off his sunglasses. “Yes, Bond knows. How could he fucking not know? He knew I thought you were fascinating a long time ago and that I only held back because I knew he cared about you first.”

Q was left speechless as Skanda looked at him. Skanda was angry, but it was his vulnerability that left Q silent.

“I was waiting for the time to be right. When all of us were on board with the idea. It seemed like now was too soon.”

“I’m sorry.” The words stuck in Q’s throat. “I didn’t…. This weekend was hellish. No. It’s not an excuse.” Q shook his head. 

“Yes, I love you, you stubborn arsehole. I would have preferred to tell you during a romantic night out, or before taking you to bed, or anytime when you weren't being a little twat.”

Q dropped his eyes and pulled at the toggles on his coat. “I needed to find out the answer to something this weekend. I needed to know before I told you. I just couldn’t do it before I left, and I knew James would at least be insistent. I really wasn’t ready for what I was going to learn and I didn’t know what to say. Shit, I didn’t even know what decision I would have made if….” 

Skanda slid a hand along Q’s thigh to pause his babbling and spoke softly. “All that would have done, Q. I don’t know why you don’t trust us, but we have your back. We always will.”

Q bit his lip and nodded. “Sorry.”

Skanda bent and kissed his lip where he was worrying at it. “I know. You don’t do it on purpose, but it hurts. Especially James. You know what happened the last time one of his lovers tried to handle something on her own.”

“I didn’t...consider that.” Q closed his eyes. He’d been a fucking selfish wanker.

Skanda rubbed Q’s leg gently. “We all have our histories- we three more than most.”

Q didn’t know how he deserved this. He looked up at him through his eyelashes. “The other thing...it’s not unwelcome.”

Skanda barked out a laugh, a grin blooming across his features. “Between you and James, god. It’s not like you can use up the words if you say, ‘I love you’ too many times.” Skanda ruffled Q’s hair playfully and Q swatted him away. “Think a little more. I’ll leave off until Bond gets home and maybe you’ll be ready to tell both of us your little mystery.”

Q nodded and slumped back into the seat, relieved he hadn’t fucked it all up after all.


	6. Chapter 6

_Q thinks you're angry with him._ Skanda messaged him.

_He’d be right. Do you know what happened?_

_Not yet. He wants to tell us both at once. He’s okay._ Skanda comforted him. _He's been quiet and thinking things over. Not sleeping well._

_Not reassuring._ Bond’s jaw tightened. 

_Don’t grind your teeth._ Skanda somehow knew, and Bond relaxed his muscles. _I know you’re frustrated, but don’t badger Q. He’ll come around._

_He should have come around before he took off._ Bond replied.

_If you try to pry it out of him now, I think he’ll lock up further. Patience._

Bond had given up with a huff. Skanda was right; he’d know soon- if he’d have to coax it out of Q or not.

::

When Bond arrived home, all the lights were on, but neither Skanda or Q were in any of the main rooms. Bosco at least came to greet him, tail wagging as he followed him around the flat. 

Bond made his way to the bedroom, loosening his tie. Bosco whined when they came to the shut door, and Bond smirked. He turned the knob, making more noise than necessary for Skanda’s sake. He wasn’t as twitchy with weapons as Bond was, but he knew Skanda would appreciate not having his instincts tripped.

Bond hummed to the lovely sight that greeted him in the bedroom. God, Q was gorgeous when he fucked, and even more enjoyable to watch when Bond had a full view. He moved in a sinuous roll, lean body as graceful as any dancer. There was a line of fresh lovebites along his clavicle that made Bond ache to add his own. Q was up on his knees, Skanda’s hips pulled into his lap, a sheen of sweat over Skanda’s dark skin making him glow. Skanda’s eyes flicked towards the door long enough to confirm it was indeed Bond, but he dropped his lids again.

They were both close- playing that lovers’ game of seeing which one of them would tip first. Q was panting, a sound which was almost a steady whine, with a hand in his own hair, tugging. His other hand was twined in Skanda’s, who was gripping it like a lifeline. Skanda’s toes were curling, back arched so that he was on his shoulders, muscles already flexed tight. If Bond had to bet, he’d be the one to tumble into bliss first. Bond pressed his hand on the front of his trousers when Skanda moaned.

Bond was in motion before he realized he had decided to do it. He knelt on the bed, settling himself behind Q. He gently untangled Q’s hand from his hair, and Q leaned back against him, one curious green eye peeking at him hazed in pleasure, before he sighed softly.

With a smirk Bond stretched his hand around Q to grasp Skanda’s cock. Skanda shuddered and snapped his eyes open. “Damn it, James--cheating!” he gasped as Bond stroked him. It didn’t take any time at all before Skanda came with a shout.

Q moaned, holding onto Skanda’s hip, trying to keep Skanda’s twitches from dislodging him. Q trembled against Bond’s chest- he wouldn’t last long, with Skanda’s clenching and releasing internal muscles milking his cock. Bond decided to help matters by firmly biting Q’s long neck. Q cried out in surprise when Bond’s teeth found his skin, and his hips lost their rhythm as he peaked.

Bond wiped his hand on the sheet and helped Q collapse over on his side. Q wriggled until Skanda pulled him against his chest so they could catch their breath together. The bite Bond had given Q was red and angry- teeth marks clear in his pale skin. He had probably bitten harder than he should have, but Q seemed unfazed.

Q looked up and reached a hand out to him. Bond lay down behind him, keeping Q in his usual middle position between him and Skanda. Bond kissed the back of Q’s head and wrapped his arm over both of them.

“Aren’t you wearing too many clothes?” Skanda asked, his voice rough and already turning sleepy.

“It’s fine now. I’ll catch up with you later,” Bond reassured him. He just wanted to rest for a moment, to close his eyes and enjoy the peace of his partners in thier relaxed, postcotial haze. He’d get up, strip, shower, and if one of them had recovered by then, well. 

Q’s hand reached to touch his thigh, his fingers rubbing idle patterns on his trousers until they stilled, Q’s breath evening out as he napped. Bond hummed, breathing in the scent of sex and familiar mingled grooming products, and slept.

::

When Bond woke, he was alone in bed and the room was dark. He looked at the clock and blinked. He had only intended to rest for a moment, but he had napped three hours and hadn’t stirred when his partners had slipped from the bed.

He sat up, swung his legs off the side of the bed, and pulled off the clothes he had slept in. He changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and a tee, then padded out of the bedroom and heard Q and Skanda speaking softly in the kitchen. He headed there. 

They were sitting at the table, drinking tea. Their hair was damp- Skanda had pilfered one of Bond’s dressing gowns and Q wore striped cotton pajamas. They looked up when Bond walked in.

“Tea?” Skanda offered. 

Bond shrugged. “If the kettle’s boiled.”

Skanda rose from the table to fetch it, a soft, reassuring look on his face.

Bond sat next to Q, who was studying the inside of his mug as if the answers to the universe’s secrets were in there. “How was the mission?” Q finally asked.

“Quick. Any courier could have done it, but I know the local police detective,” Bond shrugged. Not everything M sent him out to do was murder and explosions.

Q looked up at him. James hadn’t noticed the dark circles under his eyes before. Q opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but closed it again. He fiddled with the handle of his mug looking like a man waiting for a hammer to drop, but Bond let him stew a little longer.

Skanda came back in with James’ tea and sat back at the table. Skanda's shoulders shifted and his face softened fondly as he looked at Q, seeming oddly proud. Bond added it up and flashed him a knowing grin. So Skanda had finally told Q how he felt. Bond’s mouth relaxed from the tight, straight line he had been holding it. Skanda actually dipped his head towards Q’s shoulder, almost as if the man had a shy bone in his body. One bit of good news, at any rate. He had been watching them fall in love with each other for months- it had been lovely. 

Q looked up at both of them. He sighed deeply and picked up his tablet from the table. Bond sipped his tea. He wasn’t sure if he was being ignored in favor of the distraction of tech or if Q was going to show him something.

After a moment of tapping at it, Q cleared his throat. “A few weeks ago, I got a message on my Facebook page. My _actual_ Facebook page,” Q corrected. “I don’t use it very much- I don’t have the time or desire, and it’s not like I have a lot I can disclose freely. I have a program that shares cat photos, pictures of random people and food now and then so people who knew me before I joined Six would know I was alive. Mostly acquaintances from school and some of my foster families.”

Skanda reached over and laid his hand on Q’s arm, and Q looked at him gratefully. The glance he flashed at Bond was cautious and Bond tried to not to be impatient.

Q turned the tablet around and showed Bond a Facebook post. It was a short woman with dark hair- pretty in an unassuming way- holding a little girl with a head of wild, dark curls. The name tagged in the photo was Miranda Plourde.

“This is your ex-girlfriend from uni. We thought your playlist might be trying to tell us something,” Bond said.

Q nodded. “Perhaps more subtly than I intended. I thought maybe you’d piece it together so I wouldn’t have to...well.”

“Talk to your boyfriends,” Skanda finished. “Go on, Q. You’re doing fine.”

Q took the tablet back and touched the screen a few more times. “The program that populates my Facebook page also alerts me if I get messages. Another classmate of ours saw that photo of Miranda and her daughter Julia and sent me a message. Um. Well, read it. It’s pretty self-explanatory.” Q slid the tablet across the table to rest between Skanda and Bond.

_I saw this photo of Miranda on a friend’s page. I didn’t know you two had a baby back in uni. She kept really quiet about the whole thing, but this explains why she transferred suddenly. She looks just like you- congrats about eight years too late!_

“Miranda doesn’t have her marital status disclosed on Facebook, and mine says ‘it’s complicated’. I only assume he thought we were still together.” Q hid his face in his mug, taking a long sip of tea.

Bond clicked back to the photo of the little girl. He looked up to Skanda, who was staring at James with raised eyebrows. She did look just like Q. 

“I didn’t even know she was pregnant back in uni. Miranda is a little younger and I was finishing my doctorate and off to Six. We were, well. Friends that sometimes hooked up. It wasn’t anything serious- it wasn’t a romance. Just two compatible, healthy young people who….” Q gulped his tea. “Sometimes we got carried away. Late nights studying or drinking a little too much and we weren’t...well. We forgot to be careful a couple of times.” Q winced.

Bond shut his open mouth as he processed what Q was trying to tell him. “Q, is that your daughter?”

“No,” Q said, looking up at him. “But I didn’t know that until this weekend. I contacted Miranda and she wasn’t sure who Julia’s biological father was. She had another lover at the time, you see.” 

Skanda squeezed Q’s arm. “You took off to find out. That’s what all of this was about?”

“What was I supposed to tell you? I thought with my cock a few times nine years ago, and by the way, I might have a little girl?” Q grumbled. “I didn’t have any information, so I thought it would be best if I waited until I had an answer.”

Bond looked up and Skanda met his eyes. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Q,” Bond muttered, exasperated. “Saying it would have been a hell of a lot better.”

“I was distracted and didn’t think it through. I didn’t realize taking off like that would shake you both so much. I am sorry for that,” Q said.

Skanda’s lip twitched. “Sometimes we have to get our jobs done by any means necessary, Q. We risk our lives. We keep condoms in our kits, we try, but it doesn’t always work out. Do you really think Bond and I were going to judge you for this?”

“Skanda was on quite a round of antibiotics several years back....” Bond mused.

Skanda made an indignant noise. “That’s not funny at all. I won’t mention the time you were waiting to see if that Colorado senator's daughter was going to contact you with happy news….” Skanda smirked. “M was wondering if we’d have to save you from a shotgun wedding.”

Bond laughed. “God, I was scared to death. She was late, but not that late.” 

Q looked horrified. “I might hate you both a little right now.”

Skanda reached over and hugged Q. “Sorry, darling. We don’t mean to make light of it. All we mean is we could have helped you through this.”

“Don’t.” Bond started, turning serious. “Don’t hide things from us. I know I’m not the best… but things are complicated enough, with three of us.”

Skanda looked over Q’s head as to ask for clarification.

“Three people, who aren’t even in the same country together half of the time. We need to work harder to make sure we talk to each other to keep this working.” Bond knew it was the truth, and at the same time knew it would be challenging for him. 

“I promised Skanda I’d try harder,” Q agreed. “I’m just not used to people caring about me so much.”

Bond stood and walked to Q, pulling him out of his seat so he could hold him. “We do. Very much.”

::

Q was quiet the rest of the night. Even with all their talk about sharing with each other, there were still some things that a person needed time to process. Bond gave him some room for a couple hours and let him slip away downstairs to the den Q had claimed as his workshop. But finally enough was enough, and Bond went to check on him.

Q was sitting almost in the dark, looking at his tablet. He suddenly spoke: 

“I’m sorry, again. I didn’t consider that taking off like that would remind you of Vesper. Skanda had to point it out to me.”

For a moment, it felt like something sharp had stabbed through Bond’s chest. She was one of the many things that they didn’t talk about much. He schooled his face, breathed through it. “Let it go, Q.”

Bond leaned on Q’s bench and reached for Q’s tablet. Q was going through photos of Miranda and pictures she’d shared of her daughter. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Shaken up. Releived. Maybe a little sad. I don’t know. I never kept in touch with her,” Q said. “I’m not sure what that says about me as a person.” 

Bond picked up the tablet, scrolled through family vacation photos, pictures of Miranda’s wedding, birthdays. He turned it off and set it on the bench. “It’s the business.”

Q shook his head. “I think the business was a good excuse for me. It’s never been easy to make connections,” he admitted. Bond knew what he meant. The orphan’s lot.

“It’s not too late, you know. I’m learning that your family is what you make it. It can be your blood relations. It’s also your friends- the people who watch your back. The ones who show up when you're in hospital. The people who will go drag your drunk arse boyfriend home and not punch you when he vomits in their car.”

Q snorted. 

Bond leaned forward and tangled his fingers through Q’s hair, petting him slowly. “It’s the people who forgive you when you make bad decisions, even when you hurt them. The ones that love you, Q- it’s us.”

Q touched his forehead to Bond’s and sighed. “It’s never too late to learn, I guess.”

“No,” Bond smiled. “It’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to my cosplay partner Demomicsymphony and our followers who actually read our silly RP AU.
> 
> Thank you to my betas Anarfea and Beaubete. All mistakes are my laziness.


End file.
